


Psychically Linked

by notabadday



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, post-ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notabadday/pseuds/notabadday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years on from 3x03's 'A Wanted (Inhu)man', Jemma takes Fitz back to Lierre for another dinner and another new beginning.</p><p>  <i>As they walk in, Fitz immediately notices silence. But for the maître d’, he can’t see another person. Exactly like last time. His head whips around to look at Jemma, searching her expression for some answers. She gives him a knowing smile, her smugness and excitement mixing together to charm him once again before she says, “Do you think this place ever lets anybody else in?” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Psychically Linked

As soon as their car pulls around the corner, Fitz recognizes the street. Of course he does. No detail of his first date with Jemma Simmons could be forgotten, for better or worse. It’s a fancy restaurant, though, and one they haven’t returned to in the interim, so Fitz is left wondering if he’s missed something. He doesn’t often these days. He tries to recall all the meaningful dates in his memory and comes up blank.

 Jemma watches Fitz’s reaction: thoughtful, muted, unreadable. Still looking out of the blacked-out windows of their car, he asks, “What’s the occasion?” with an edge of unease, fear that perhaps there are still holes.

 Jemma plays it off with a shrug. “Relax, Fitz.” Her face brightens with a smile, a foolproof method of reassurance with him, and immediately his shoulders drop a little. “I just wanted to have dinner somewhere nice tonight.”

 She gets out of the car first and, taking him by the hand as confidently as ever she has, leads him into the restaurant.

 As they walk in, Fitz immediately notices silence. But for the maître d’, he can’t see another person. Exactly like last time. His head whips around to look at Jemma, searching her expression for some answers. She gives him a knowing smile, her smugness and excitement mixing together to charm him once again before she says, “Do you think this place ever lets anybody else in?”

 “What’s going on?”

 “Well,” she teases, “I wanted a quiet evening with you, so…”

 The maître d’ takes this as his cue, interrupting to ask, “May I show you to your table?” before gesturing for them to follow him. At exactly the table Fitz remembers from last time, three roses and a candle providing a centerpiece, they take their seats.

 As Fitz looks over the menu that he’s just been handed, hungry from a busy day in the lab, Jemma’s eyes keep drifting up from hers. After a few minutes, she gives up the pretence of searching for her dinner order and puts the page down to give him her full attention. He appears oblivious. With the distraction of food, he’s thrown off the scent. She makes a note of that in the interest of future missions.

 “Do you know what you’re having?” he asks absently, still scanning the options. “I’m thinking pasta. I always feel like I should have something I can’t have at home when we eat out but what if I just really like pasta?”

 Only when she doesn’t answer does Fitz look up, suddenly realizing that he might at last understand the significance of the evening. Jemma’s expression is serious and it unnerves him; she’s been inexplicably giddy and antsy all day, now all of a sudden she’s quietly biting her lip and staring holes into his skin.

 “Is everything alright, Jem?” he asks gently.

 “Yeah,” she says, and then she thinks about it a little more, repeating, “Yeah. Yeah.”

 “You seem…” Dare he say it? “…Distracted.”

 “I’m just… I’m struggling to find the words. I’ll be thinking about it all evening if I don’t just do this now. I don’t want you to worry, umm…” She avoids his eyes for a minute, searching her mind for what to say, before looking back up at him with sudden composure. “Two years ago, you brought me here and it was... it was a fresh start for me, _for us_. And even though that night ended with me crying on your shoulder, I promise that tonight won't end that way." Jemma hesitates. "Well, I hope it won't anyway. Don't say no is the thing, I guess. Sex is on the cards for you if you play this right, Fitz," she says with a nervous laugh, letting words fall out of her mouth as quickly as they come into her head. His eyebrows rise comically.

 She continues: "Umm, I was just sort of hoping that you might... marry me?" There’s a pause, Fitz registering the shock of it in his eyes, before she hastily adds, "Wow, that just came right out. What I mean is... _I love you_. More than that. I just, I don't really know how to verbalize it. You're just... _it_ for me."

 "This is crazy," Fitz replies, a little dazed.

 Jemma grimaces. "Is it? Oh dear. If this was a bad idea, we can just eat chicken ravioli and say nothing more about it," she begins rambling, hiding her face behind her menu. "Or filet mignon if you're nasty. You do you. Gosh, why is it so quiet in here?"

 "Because it's only the two of us," Fitz laughs.

 "Sorry," Jemma replies with a dramatic sigh, brow furrowed as she stares at the menu.

 " _Crazy_ ," Fitz begins again, clarifying his meaning, "because..."

 She watches him reach into his jacket pocket to pull out a little black box. As the meaning of it dawns on her, tears begin to prick her eyes. He places it on the table, opening it to face her, the sparkle of the diamond shining in candlelight.

 "Oh.”

 "Can I do my speech?" Fitz asks, a twinkle in his eye. 

Jemma is blinking away tears and biting her lip as she nods, silent in surprise.

 "The first time I ever thought about marrying you, we were sitting outside an exam hall. Your backup pen had dried up, so you stole one of mine," he recalls, a warm expression creeping in, the story a more relaxing one to tell than he’d imagined owing to the unexpected certainty of her yes.

 She interrupts: "You had more pens than any person could ever need, quite frankly."

 Fitz nods, continuing: "As you pilfered my stationery, I replied with a snarky 'What's mine is yours' comment, and you smiled at me so brightly, looking _so_ pleased with yourself.” He shakes his head with a grin. “And I just thought about it the whole exam… sitting there thinking, is there anything I wouldn't give for this girl to smile like that again? _Nothing_. I would marry her."

 "Okay, stop. I want a do-over." Jemma breaks him off before he can continue, her hand raised, tears settling on her cheeks as she shakes her head.

 "What?"

 "Yours was better, I want a do-over. I want to enter into a marriage as equals, Fitz."

 "I feel compelled to point out that no one's said yes to anything yet,” Fitz notes.

 Jemma’s shaking her head. "I want to know what I'm getting myself into before committing to an answer."

 "You proposed first!" he exclaims incredulously.

 "Yeah, but your speech was better," she replies with a grin. The euphoria of the undoubted yes has set in. "I can speechify too."

 She jokingly clears her throat. "I brought us back to this restaurant to begin a new chapter. The last time you brought me here, I was... broken." Jemma’s tone shifts to serious and it seems to surprise even her. "I wasn't myself. But you stood in the ruins with me and we rebuilt the house around us. You led me back by the hand. You were a friend and never expected anything in return. After everything, the chances I could ever love anybody else the way I love you went from unlikely to… _impossible_.

 "From when we were kids and I was finding excuses to steal your stuff to get your attention, I've been falling for you over and over. I think it's about time I lock it down."

 "You stole the pen-stealing bit from mine," Fitz says, ignoring the tears that are spilling out of his eyes to instead lighten the mood once more, smiling brightly at her from across the table.

 "Well then I guess some things never change. Besides, you stole the proposal from me!"

 "Thief."

 "Copycat."

 "I prefer fiancé," he says.

 "Fiancé," Jemma repeats, getting used to the idea.

 As it sinks in, they both savor the feeling. They share a smile, suddenly quiet as the momentum of their rapport falls away. Jemma looks down, teary and shy, before suddenly realizing that there’s still an answer to give. She quickly nods, "Oh. Yes, yes. The answer’s yes."

 Just to avoid confusion, Fitz adds, “Put me down as a yes too.”

 He takes the ring out of the box and delicately slides it onto Jemma's finger, holding her hand in his to admire the sight. The small silver band had been burning a hole in his pocket for weeks. Every time he would see Bobbi, she looked up at him with the question in her eyes and he’d give a subtle shake of his head, subtle enough that Jemma wouldn’t notice. Finally, he’ll be able to give her a nod.

 Jemma moves around to Fitz’s side of the table, sliding between his legs to perch there. His hand rests firmly on her back to support her as she kisses him appreciatively. She pulls away momentarily to take in the warmth of his expression – contentment and desire all at once – before moving her hand across his cheek affectionately and deepening their kiss, the cool band of silver brushing against his skin. It’s confident and comfortable and, well, the rest of their lives.

 As they come apart, Jemma rests her forehead against Fitz's, whispering to him, "I think we're going to make the maître d' incredibly uncomfortable this evening."

 "It's fine. He's put up with far worse from me in the past."

She kisses him softly on the lips again and replies, "I love you."

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always much appreciated. Thanks for reading.


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